


Secrets Best Kept

by Shy Violet (violet_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post - Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_quill/pseuds/Shy%20Violet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after graduation from Hogwarts, Harry is going into hiding and Hermione has been chosen as his secret keeper.  Lying low at Hogwarts, she is forced to study occlumency with Snape.  But there may be things in her mind she would rather he not see... and in turn, will he be able to keep his own feelings from her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004; originally posted at [Ashwinder](http://ashwinder.sycophanthex.com/viewstory.php?sid=4300).

"I know that you would do anything for Harry," Dumbledore was saying, his voice carrying the same lilt that she remembered from her school days, but with something somber scratching at the surface. He was worried. She hated that, because if he was worried that meant that everyone else had cause to be terrified.

"However," he continued, "I know the stigma that is placed on this particular request, and I... we... would understand if you would rather we chose someone else. Several have volunteered; we just felt that you..."

"I _am_ the best choice," Hermione said defiantly, "And of course I'll do it. Tell Harry I'll do it."

Her old headmaster's face softened, into something of relief, or perhaps pride. "You do realize everything that this entails?"

"I do."

There is something unspoken. Names, unspoken. James. Lily. Peter...

She took a deep breath, and added, "If Harry is going to go into hiding, then I will be his secret keeper until my dying breath, and then I'll take it with me to the grave."

*****

Later that evening, Hermione packed a bag of belongings from her apartment in London. She had been living there for the last five years, since the day she had graduated Hogwarts and begun preparations for her auror training. Ron had lived with her for a short time... while they were still together. But the resentment that he felt at not being accepted as an auror took such a toll on their relationship. And on his and Harry's as well. He still did occasional work for The Order, but most of his time was now spent traveling with the Tornadoes, who had taken him on as keeper.

Even Harry no longer worked at the Ministry. He was a wonderful auror, but his situation - the mere state of who he _was_ \- simply drew too much attention. Voldemort had spent the last six years hunting him with a fury that was simply exhausting for everyone around Harry, and the fact that Voldemort may turn up at any auror raid just because Harry was there... well, it became far too much of a liability.

In fact, it was Harry's recent resignation that prompted Hermione's earlier conversation with Dumbledore. Harry of course, being as he was, just wanted to go after Voldemort himself, confront him and finish everything once and for all.

"I don't _care_ which way the prophesy unfolds anymore!" he'd said to her, looking more weary than she'd ever seen him. "I just can't fucking do this anymore. I need it to end, one way or the other."

It had taken both she and Dumbledore to calm him down, to explain to him that there was more at stake. It was not just about the end or continuation of his own life, but of Voldemort's. If there wasn't a triumph for good in the end... Voldemort would likely shroud the wizarding world in darkness forever.

"Everyone around me is hurting," Harry had said, and there was this intense sadness in his eyes that Hermione knew was about Ginny.

The two of them were so in love, so happy together when the rest of the world was forgotten... and yet they had never been able to be together in the way that they wanted. It was simply too dangerous, to let Voldemort know that there was someone so important to Harry; she would instantly become a target. So they hid their feelings. And it was straining on both of them.

It was finally Dumbledore who came to a decision, which had always been enough for Harry to follow. Harry and Ginny would go into hiding, not for a long time, but long enough to throw Voldemort off in his hunt. It would detract attention from his resignation, make it seem as if Harry was missing due to his involvement with an auror mission. He would be able to regroup, gather his strength, and give the rest of The Order a chance to monitor Voldemort without his hunt for Harry getting in the way.

Harry was reluctant, but in the end he agreed. Hermione suspected that a large part of his acquiescence had to do with the chance to be with Ginny. She didn't blame him. She had never been in love like that before (not even with Ron, though she didn't realize it until later), but she imagined that it must be something close to dying, to be apart.

That was when Dumbledore had dismissed Harry and spoken to Hermione about being their secret keeper. Her work as an auror would be put on hold for a while so that she would not be so foremost on the minds of dark wizards. Though even in her job she had never been nearly as visible as Harry. Stealth was more of her specialty, and research. She had spent more time in libraries in her days as a "spy" than ever she had as a student.

So she would be coming to Hogwarts, under the pretense of being a substitute professor for Arithmancy. Professor Vector would be taking a long-deserved vacation, about which he was quite pleased, and Dumbledore had great faith in her abilities to teach the subject.

She would be able to lie low, be protected by simply being at Hogwarts, and (as Dumbledore had explained was of utmost importance) be trained in occlumency.

She realized the importance of this role that she was being given. Because she remembered another time that a red haired woman and her lover in dark hair and glasses had entrusted their secret to a friend.

With every ounce of strength she had in her body, she would ensure that their fate would not be Harry's.

*****

Most of the Hogwarts professors seemed delighted to see her. One did not. It was not, however, a big surprise who that one was.

"How nice to see you, Miss Granger," Severus Snape said, his tone indicating that there was nothing nice about it. Five years they had both served in the Order of the Phoenix and he still called her "Miss".

She couldn't even imagine how he would react if she suddenly referred to him as "Severus." "Likewise, Professor," she replied.

"I understand you will be teaching Arithmancy," he continued. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he leaned forward at the table and he didn't bother to push it away. "Do you actually have any _training_ as a teacher, or will you just be faking it?"

Before Hermione could retort, Professor McGonagall jumped to her defense. "I assure you, Severus, that Hermione is one of the most accomplished..."

"Now, now," Dumbledore interrupted, holding up his hands as in peace, "I can assure everyone that I have the utmost confidence in Miss Granger's abilities to perform admirably in Professor Vector's absence." His gaze shifted to Snape. "And I'm sure that should she need any assistance that any of you would be happy to volunteer your expertise."

Hermione thought she heard Snape snort defiantly, but it went unnoticed.

Dumbledore stood, and the others followed suit. "If you would excuse us," he said, motioning to Hermione, "We have much to discuss involving her new position."

Hermione flashed McGonagall a grateful smile as she filed out of the room. Snape was the last to leave and as he reached the door, Dumbledore called, "Severus? Would you please stay for a moment?"

Hermione sighed, clasped her hands together at the table.

Snape looked a bit deflated as he sat back down. "I really must get going, I have to..."

"This will only take a moment," Dumbledore interrupted. "You know the real reason that Hermione has joined us here, and along those lines I must ask you a favor."

Snape's expression was sour as he nodded.

"It is vital that she become skilled in occlumency in as short a period as possible," Dumbledore continued, then looked at Hermione and added, "Just in case."

"And I suppose you want _me_ to teach her?"

"You know I would do it myself, Severus, but I just don't have enough time to devote at the moment and you know how important this is." He gave Hermione a look that she would almost describe as apologetic.

"Well then, I suppose that leaves it on me," Snape said, his voice resigned but bitter. "I will expect you in my office at eight o'clock." With that, he nodded to Dumbledore, stood, and exited the room.

Hermione sighed, wondering if Snape had always been this unpleasant. "What was Professor Snape like as a student?" she asked Dumbledore as he stood to leave.

The headmaster looked thoughtful. "Shorter," he replied.

*****

Hermione paced back and forth in the room formerly occupied by Professor Vector, trying to remember everything that Harry had told her about occlumency when he was learning (or rather, not learning) it their fifth year in school.

The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. It was known that Voldemort was highly skilled in legilimency, the ability to extract feelings and memories from a person's mind. So in other words, Dumbledore wanted to be very sure that the important secret she was about to be entrusted with could not be stripped from her mind with any force.

She also realized that, in accordance with these lessons, Snape would be attempting to break into her mind. And this made her very, very uncomfortable.

In fact, she was getting slightly panicked at the idea. Perhaps she could construct a pensieve, put in everything she didn't want him to find... but no, they were far too complicated to make and she didn't have the time.

The clock on the wall chimed half past seven.

Empty her mind, she'd have to empty her mind. Let go of emotion. Emotions are bad, they make you weak. They're easy to find, easy to read, easy to use against you... Her pace quickened as she started trying to think of all of the emotions that she felt that she would have to suppress. Deep down. Where he'd never find them.

Anger. Fear. Embarrassment. Lust.

Especially lust.

The clock chimed quarter to eight and she realized that this point, before the secret was lodged in her mind, she was far more frightened of Severus Snape getting in there than she was of Voldemort.

*****

"I trust you at least know what occlumency is?" was the first thing that Snape said when Hermione walked into his office.

"Yes," she said, between gritted teeth. If he was going to insult her, there were much better things to have a go at than her intelligence, and they both knew it.

"Well then," he said, getting up from his desk and coming to stand in front of her, "Let's get started. This is just going to take a lot of practice so the harder you work the sooner we'll have these lessons over with." He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps you'll have a better go at it than when I tried to teach Mr. Potter."

She didn't say anything.

"Very well." He took out his wand, and motioned for her to do the same. "I want you to clear your mind. I'm going to attempt to break in. Try to resist me with your mind, and if you must, disarm me."

She concentrated on clearing her mind, tried to think of anything but the things she didn't want him to see. Started reciting arithmancy astrological tables in her head.

" _Legilimens!_ "

The office in front of her faded to black and images started flooding her mind.

Crying at the sight of her dead cat when she was six years old. A boy in grade school making a crack about her teeth. Her mum reading the Hogwarts letter and looking confused. Sneaking up behind the teacher's quidditch box and setting fire to Snape's robes...

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

She hadn't even realized what she was doing, but suddenly she was back in the office, holding Snape's wand in her other hand while he stood a few feet away looking slightly stunned. She murmured an apology and handed it back to him, hastily.

He straightened his robes and said, "I've seen worse first tries. At least you disarmed me before I got any further." His mouth twitched slightly at the corner, and he added, "So it was you who lit fire to my robes that day."

She tried to place the tone in his voice, but he almost sounded... No, it couldn't be. He almost sounded... impressed? "Um..." she began, her voice faltering, "I can explain about that. See..."

He waved his hand. "Save your breath, silly girl. I can't very well give you a detention now, can I?"

She felt relieved. Well. If that was the worst thing that he would get hold of in her head, she could handle this. She relaxed, feeling some of the tension disappear.

"We're going to try again," Snape said, stepping back towards her. "Now this time, concentrate on not letting me in at all. Use your mind, not your wand. _Push me away_."

She nodded, tried again to clear her mind, and then his voice came, sooner than she expected it to...

" _Legilimens!_ "

Another wash of images. Giving Harry a hug outside of the Hogwarts Express. Sitting in the library, listening as a student walks by and whispers "She thinks she knows everything" to a friend. Breaking into Snape's stores to get the ingredients for polyjuice potion. Snape standing in the hallway of the house at Grimmauld Place, yelling at Sirius Black. Snape lecturing to a potions class, pacing at the front of the classroom, his robes billowing behind him. Snape sitting across from her at an Order meeting, looking down as his hair completely covered his face. Gazing at a portrait of Snape in a Hogwarts corridor.

Suddenly the images faded and she was standing back in the office, looking at Snape. And she was mortifed.

She couldn't read his tone as he said, "You didn't push me away."

She swallowed, her voice shaking slightly, "I tried! I did, I mean, I..."

"Your first try was significantly better," he said, and she noticed that his eyes were obviously avoiding hers. "We'll try again tomorrow. I will see you here again at eight o'clock."

She started to say something, but then looked at him and changed her mind. She practically fled from the office.

She looked back, only briefly, and saw him. He was sitting in his chair, staring at the wall, unblinking.

*****

The next day, Hermione had a bit of trouble concentrating. More accurately, she was a complete wreck, mostly due to having been kept up all night, a victim of her own thoughts. She fumbled through teaching her first classes, making a right fool of herself; at once point a third year corrected her on an obvious mistake and then she went on to make it again in the same fashion.

She skipped dinner in the main hall and by the time she got back to her room, everything was still turning around in her head and it wouldn't stop.

He must have guessed, by now. He couldn't see those images and not realize what they probably meant, could he? But perhaps she could play it off... convince him that the reason he was so prominent in her mind was that she was frightened of him. Or something.

As embarrassing as that would be, it couldn't possibly be any worse than the truth. And the truth was... she _had_ spent a lot of time thinking about Severus Snape, and it had nothing to do with fear.

It was times like these that she really did wish she had a penseive. Because now she was sitting in her room and this was the last thing she wanted to think about, and the only thing she couldn't get out of her head.

It was during winter break in her last year of school that it seemed to start. She, Harry, and Ron were staying at Grimmauld Place because that was where the Weasleys were. It was still their base of operations even after Sirius' death nearly two years before. Almost everyone was gathered there, because tensions were high. Harry was about to graduate and it seemed like the Ultimate Showdown would be any time, and Death Eater activity was at an unusual high.

It was several days before Christmas and Harry and Ron were asleep in their room and Ginny also, in the bed beside her. She remembered the fit that Ron had thrown when he'd told his parents that they should share a room... "Not under my roof!" Mrs. Weasley had shrieked, and Hermione had been mortified, assuring Ron that it was okay, but he'd been sullen and moody the rest of the day anyway.

Hermione though, couldn't sleep. She had gotten out of bed and padded downstairs in hopes of finding something to read. But as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard voices. She slipped behind the banister, hiding in hopes of hearing what was going on.

Remus and Molly were walking around looking distressed; Molly muttered something like "He should have been back by now" and suddenly there was the quiet *POP* of apparition.

After a few moments, Hermione realized that what she thought was just a pile of black robes was actually a person, crumbled on the floor in the living room. Molly cried out and they both dropped to their knees, Remus pulling up the person's head and checking for a pulse.

Hermione gasped, and then quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to avoid making any further noise, when she realized that it was Professor Snape.

"He's alive," Remus said. "Here, help me lift him onto the couch." Molly grabbed his feet and they hefted, landing the body on the couch. Snape let out a groan.

"What have they done to him?" Molly said, her voice full of concern. "It doesn't look like any sort of spell, he's just been..."

"Beaten," Remus finished. "Within an inch of his life, it appears, but not with the intention of death." He pulled out his wand, murmured a few words, then continued, "Voldemort would know that broken bones and internal bleeding are easy enough for us to heal. He just wanted to hurt him."

Snape groaned again, and then opened parched lips and said, his voice dry and cracking, "Thought it was funny."

"What?" Remus asked sharply.

"Voldemort... he... was trying to make some sort of example. The potion he had me brew didn't work. I'd sabotaged it but he didn't know that, just thought I was incompetent. Said if I can't even do magic properly no point in putting me under Cruciatus, so he took my wand, and set some of the Death Eaters on me." The pain in his voice wasn't merely physical, and Hermione could imagine how difficult it must be to have to admit this to Remus. It was no great secret that they fairly despised each other.

"They... beat you?" Molly asked, horrified. "How did you escape?"

"Wasn't trying to kill me. After they were... finished, tossed back my wand and I apparated here." He groaned again, shifted on the couch. "It's so hot. Why is it so hot?"

"He may have a concussion," Molly said. "I think he's delirious. Maybe we should get him to St. Mungos."

Remus shook his head. "Too many questions... if Snape were a real Death Eater he wouldn't risk it." He surveyed Snape again. "And I think I've done enough. There's nothing life threatening, he'll just be in pain."

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Molly asked, putting a hand to his forehead.

"There's a simple potion I can brew that should take the edge off his pain," Remus told her. "You get to bed, I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?" She looked worried.

"Yes, I'm sure. He'll be fine, I promise."

Molly nodded, cast a concerned glance towards the heap on the couch, and made her way towards the stairs. Hermione ducked farther into the shadows to avoid being seen.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Remus was saying. "I guess none of us really know all that you have to go through." He left him there and went into the door that led to the basement, Hermione assumed to make the potion.

She stood there for a moment, transfixed by the sight of Snape on the couch, moaning softly in pain. He suddenly seemed so... real. Remus wasn't the only one who hadn't realized what he had to go through. Imagine the strength he must have to keep it up. Not like Peter Pettigrew, who had given in so easily... She remembered all of the bad things Harry had always said about him, remembered all the times they mistrusted him, thought that he was in league with Voldemort. She felt guilty.

She edged forward, about to make her way back up the stairs unseen. But the step made a loud creak on the floorboard and Snape shifted again on the couch.

"Molly?" he said, his voice still cracking. "Molly, is that you?"

She didn't know what to do... she could get in trouble for listening in, but then again, what if he needed something? She walked over to the couch, knelt down beside him.

"Professor Snape?" she said quietly, "Can I get something for you?"

He turned his head towards her, and she could see that he had a black eye and a cut on his lip. He didn't seem to register who she was, just simply asked, "Some water... please..."

She stood and hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water and came back, kneeling again and handing it to him.

He drank, and a drop of blood from the cut on his lip sank into the water.

"Oh!" Hermione breathed, and without thinking she lifted up her hand and used the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe the blood from his face. She started to stand and leave then, but he grabbed her wrist, gently.

"Thank you, my dear," he said quietly, his voice still scratching.

She still wasn't sure if he realized who she was; she could tell by the erratic movement in his eyes that he probably half delirious. "I think," she whispered, as she stood, "I think you're very brave." And with that, she fled from the room, went quickly up the stairs just as she heard the door to the basement opening and Remus coming back into the living room.

She assumed that Remus' potion worked, because the next day Snape just wasn't around and when she inquired about him (Ron gave her a funny look for that one), Molly told her that he'd been out late on Order business and was sleeping there through the day. Later, she cracked open the door to the guest room and saw that he was indeed in there, sound asleep.

And then the next day, everything was completely back to normal. In the morning he had a row with Mr. Weasley about something stupid, and made an insulting remark to Remus when he was reminded to brew up a new batch of wolfsbane. When she passed him in the hallway later, there was nothing different in the way he looked at her, no embarrassment or recognition. It wasn't surprising though; she hadn't expected him to remember their encounter.

She never told Ron or Harry about what she saw, but after that she suddenly found herself looking at Snape differently. She noticed the rare moments when there was warmth in his eyes, paid attention to news of his work in the Order, started to appreciate his intelligence and wit, even if it was often aimed as an insult against her friends. Ron was often hacked off at her when she started defending him so she learned to keep her mouth shut.

When she left Hogwarts, she thought that perhaps she and Snape could be friends. But every attempt she made he repelled, not in a mean-spirited manner, but just in the same way that he kept everyone away from him. Yet somehow the more guarded he was the more intrigued she became, and she started thinking about him more and more.

Over the course of five years, her failed relationship with Ron, and beginnings of several others, she began to realize that her feelings for Snape _had_ changed. When she would see him at Order meetings, she found that she was no longer thinking of him as a student thinks of a teacher, but as a woman thinks of a man.

She certainly wasn't in love with him or anything as dramatic as all that, at least she didn't think so... she could never get close enough to him to find out. Of course, it didn't feel like a schoolgirl crush either. And it also wasn't that she thought of him in a sexual way - though the more she found herself thinking about him the more his appearance and mannerisms seemed attractive. No, it was something entirely different. Yet through it all, their relationship remained exactly the same. He treated her as little more than an annoyance, and finally she started to think about it less and less...

That is, until last night. It was exactly as she feared, that he would go into her mind and find those feelings that she'd had in her memories. And now she had to go back tonight, and she had no idea what she would say to him.

*****

It took her several minutes of standing outside Snape's office to actually muster the will to knock.

"Come," came a gruff, muffled reply from within.

She pushed the door open, saw him standing on the other side of the room. He had his back to her as he stacked an armful of books, one by one, on a shelf beside his desk. His voice then, towards the shelf, but just loud enough so that she got the full force of it: "If you're going to stand in the doorway all night, Miss Granger," he said sharply, "You're wasting my time. Now get in here before I get to any of the many better things I could be doing with my evening."

The words stung her, just a bit, but did not come as a surprise. "Professor Snape -" she began, taking half a step forward and then lurching to a stop when the sharp voice interrupted her.

"If you are about to make silly excuses regarding the last session of our lesson yesterday, you would do well to save your breath." He turned, his eyes boring into hers and she found herself rooted to the spot. "You're positively _spewing_ anxiety, Miss Granger, which I can tell you will have no positive effect on our lesson tonight."

"Professor, I..."

"Not _finished_ ," he snapped. "Now, I mean to tell you that there is no point to your excuses. What you may not know or _understand_ about legilimancy is that there is often no pattern to the images it extracts. Whereas it is commonly the case that it finds those most prominent, or linked to the strongest emotions, that is not always so. It is just as likely that they become stream of consciousness, latching onto a lesser memory and following connections to related ones. So whatever misconceptions you may be so _anxious_ that I have formed, I can guarantee you that I have not."

Hermione's reaction to his speech was not what she would have predicted. Rather, she felt her cheeks redden not from embarrassment but from anger. What right did he have to insult her intelligence, belittle her feelings, and be so nastily pedantic to her when she had always shown him nothing but respect? "I assure you, Professor Snape," she snapped, "that any anxiety that I may feel has nothing to do with misconceptions, as I care very little for what you think. Rather, I may be a bit vexed to be spending my evenings with such a hateful, condescending prat." As soon as the words left her mouth, she couldn't believe what she'd just said, but wasn't altogether sure that she would take them back, given the chance.

There, in his eyes. A glimmer of shock. And there was at least half a second where she was sure she had rendered him speechless.

He then took several steps forward, landing himself quite close to her, and he spoke in the quiet, venomous voice that she knew meant he was holding back his temper. "I am going to ignore that little outburst," he hissed, "and write it off as a reaction to the stress of your change in environment and situation. However, should you ever deem it appropriate to speak to me in such a manner again, I will put an end to these lessons and you will be left to fend for yourself when the Dark Lord comes looking for your precious Harry. Is that understood?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes locked with his. "Perfectly."

"Now," he began, pulling his wand out of the sleeve of his robes, "I am going to cast legilimens on you and you are going to try to block me this time. And I suggest that you put away your temper or this is a pointless endeavor."

She took a breath, trying to clear her mind. The night before she had concentrated on pushing back into the recesses of her mind, the incident at Grimmauld Place. Especially at this point, that was the last thing she wanted him to see. But right now, it was so difficult to push back her emotions when she was so angry...

" _Legilimens!_ "

Snape and his wand faded to black and she began to swim in the images inside her head again. Seeing Harry crying in a corner of Gryffindor Tower when he thought no one was looking. Then, making love to Ron, her head thrown back as a scream died on her lips, opening her eyes to see a mirror behind him showing the sweat dripping from her hair. Ron, standing at the door to the flat they once shared, saying, "I don't guess I ever really loved you. You were just... there." Gasping as a Death Eater casts the Crutiatus spell on her. And then...

"Out," she heard herself whisper, and the room came back into focus. Her hands were shaking; she could barely hold onto her wand. She could feel tears start to form in the backs of her eyes and she willed them back.

Snape stood in front of her, and this time she was sure that the expression on his face _was_ one of shock. She looked down at his wand and thought she saw his hand shaking as well, but then he grabbed it with his other hand and the expression on his face went blank once again.

"You didn't use your wand that time," he said. "You pushed me out with only your mind. That is better, but you still let me get in... too far. Much too far."

 _No fucking kidding_ , she thought bitterly, clenching her hands to stop the shaking and trying to maintain an ounce of dignity.

"Miss Granger?" His voice sounded far away, and for a moment she looked up at him and thought she saw that glimmer of warmth that she used to seek out, cling to.

 _I mustn't let him see me cry._ "I'm fine," she said, surprised to hear a harshness in her tone. "A bit put out about your seeing me naked, is all." Had she just said that out loud?

And then, there it was. On his pale skin, a trace of warmth. A flush to his cheeks, and Hermione realized that she had just embarrassed Severus Snape.

A flash of something, and then it was gone, his face hardened again.

He started to say something, but it was she that cut him off this time. "I want to try again."

He took a breath. "Very well. But I cannot be responsible for..."

" _I want to try again_."

He nodded, held up his wand, and she tried very hard to remember something that Harry had told her once, long ago...

" _Legilimens!_ "

The room flushed into darkness and she could suddenly see the shadows behind the stairs in Grimmauld Place...

But she could still see Snape's face, a haze against the darkness, and she flashed her wand into the abyss. " _Protego!_ "

Suddenly the picture changed, and Hermione could feel the invasion of memories that were not her own. Snape crying out in pain as the dark mark burns his skin unexpectedly. Bracing his arms above his head to lessen the impact of the fists of men sheathed in dark robes that came pounding towards his body. Laying on a couch in a dark room, Hermione's face bathed in moonlight above him. The same dark room, the sound of footsteps retreating up a flight of stairs, and a name falling softly from his lips: "Hermione..."

And then she was suddenly lurched backwards, falling to the floor as the images faded and she heard whispered in a raspy voice above her, "That is quite enough."


	2. Snape

A dark night in a dark room, his eyes were closed and his mind was filled with dark thoughts. The pain in his body almost rivaled the pain to his pride, and as Molly and Remus left him there he wondered if he should have just apparated somewhere else, tended to his own wounds, rather than know the _pity_ that they felt for him. He didn't need the werewolf, of all things, to care for him, and yet a shiver ran through his body and parched, broken lips demanded water. He was having trouble focusing his mind on a single thought, and even the world around him when he opened his eyes seemed slightly out of focus. This was not a time for _weakness_.

He heard a creak, a footstep, in the direction that Molly had just departed. The parched lips betrayed him: "Molly? Molly, is that you?"

Footsteps then, lighter than Molly's, and a voice very close to him saying softly, "Professor Snape? Can I get something for you?"

He turned his head towards the voice and barely registered the younger countenance before he rasped, "Some water... please..." and was cursing himself on the inside. _It's no wonder they show you pity_ , he thought, feeling the stab of a bruised rib when he shifted on the couch, _You sound pathetic._

She returned then, held a glass out water out to him. He took it, and realized the identity of his caregiver. Miss Granger... at least, it seemed to be. Was it the ill focus of his vision, the darkness of the room, the way the moonlight hit her face? He would have sworn that she was a child, and yet...

Pushing away what were obviously thoughts laced by delirium, he tried to find strength enough for his voice, so that he could reprimand her for being out of bed. But suddenly her mouth formed a concerned "O" and then she took her hand, covered in the sleeve of her nightgown, and gently wiped the blood from the cut on his face.

It was then he realized that the look in her eyes as she helped him was not one of pity, or even concern. It was respect, pride... awe.

It was a great thing to be kind without pity. As she started to go his hand moved instinctively, lightly closing on her arm. "Thank you, my dear," he said, slightly surprising himself.

She looked taken aback, and then he heard her say, as she stood and hurried out of the room, back up the stairs, "I think you're very brave."

He lay in darkness for a few seconds, wondering when she had become a woman outside his notice. It wasn't her appearance, it was something in her... spirit. Her soul.

 _But then again, I've just had quite a blow to the head_ , he thought bitterly, and could suddenly see the corners of his vision going dark. And just before everything around him faded to black, his single thought slipped from his lips: "Hermione..."

*****

He could not imagine anything more trite than saying that _the image of her that night haunted him_. But it did, at least, for the rest of the school year. He realized that she thought he didn't remember - he caught her eyes searching, the first few times he saw her, perhaps for some glimmer of recognition, which he never saw fit to give her.

Instead he watched her, discreetly, and saw that she was indeed becoming a woman, some moments more so than others. With the other two thirds of her trio, at least, she still acted much like a child. This made things much easier on him, since she was rarely without them. Particularly Ron Weasley, and when he saw them together he felt like stopping them - "Don't touch her, you unworthy twit, you're going to suck away her growing spirit with your foolish, childish ways."

It wasn't jealousy, because he didn't want her for himself; she was barely eighteen for god sake. He saw something growing in her that should be nourished and cared for. But he was not the one to do it.

And so things continued as they always had. Perhaps he was even harder on her than he had been before; he was harder on all of them at that point. He remembered hearing her defending him to Ron one afternoon. And then he'd flown in, taken ten points from Gryffindor for their being late to class.

When she graduated, had he been another man perhaps it would have been a reason for elation: ah, _now_ he could think about her without guilt! But instead, he pushed her to the back of his mind. The last thing he needed was a distraction of that sort, and besides, she was still much too young for him. And he was... himself. Thoughts of women, even ones with old souls, had no place in his life. And he had no delusions that he had a place in theirs. Because even his stone of a heart could see that Hermione Granger was becoming a beautiful woman. And beautiful women had no thoughts of Severus Snape, just as he knew they caused nothing but grief.

So the years passed, and by way of treating her as he treated everyone else, he saw her, thought about her, no differently. And when she moved into Hogwarts and he was forced to give her lessons in occlumency, he was just as annoyed as he would have been were it anyone else.

And then, during their first session, her nervousness surprised him. She lacked the strength that he was used to seeing in her, and he wondered why. He was slightly pleased, then, to see the image in her mind of setting fire to his robes in the quidditch stand so many years ago, when she was still a child. It was a task... worthy of a Slytherin, really.

But then they tried again, and the memories he extracted from her mind were no longer of her childhood. Instead, she was very much an adult, and the images were very much... of him. He watched himself through her eyes, transfixed. It wasn't until the last image of the portrait, something in the way she gazed at it, that jerked him to reality. He broke the connection.

"You didn't push me away," he said, meaning it to sound like a reprimand, but realizing that there was more questioning in his tone than he intended.

She sounded terrified as she began to defend herself, and he realized how powerfully shaken up she was. Was that why she had been so nervous? Afraid of what he would see in her mind? Afraid he would see... himself?

No, that was ridiculous.

Before he could continue to turn it over and over in his head, he dismissed her, refusing to meet her eyes. She left, and he slumped into his chair, lost in his own thoughts.

*****

When she arrived at his office the next evening, he had spent far too much of his night and day dwelling on what had happened the one before. He was disgusted with himself in the foolish games he was playing with his own thoughts – some boyhood fantasy, _she loves me, she loves me not..._. Absurd. He finally convinced himself of what he had all along suspected to be true – that the images meant nothing. It was just as likely that the memories were random, triggered by stream of consciousness as sometimes happens in legilimency. And even if they did mean something... it was just as likely that the emotions that triggered them were negative as positive. He remembered Neville Longbottom's boggart; whereas he harbored no delusions that she was terrified of him, he would not be surprised if her dislike for him ran deeper than he thought. She would not be the first one. And whereas she had always maintained something of a friendly manner towards him – actually, that was quite unusual – she did as much towards everyone. It was in her disposition. Not something that he would normally praise, but it suited her, and it made the times when her anger shone through infinitely more powerful.

These were the thoughts he had been having all day, and by the evening he was in as sour a mood as he had ever been. The more he thought about her, the more he didn't _want_ to think about her, and the more irritated he was that his mind seemed to be forcing him to do so.

When she arrived, he didn't need legilimency to read her thoughts. She was a nervous wreck, as much as he'd ever seen her. And he realized what it was: she was mortified at the thought that he, loathsome Severus Snape, had been given the impression that _she_ had feelings for _him_. _She's probably well into disgusted by now_ , he thought bitterly, and snapped at her as soon as she opened the door, not bothering to turn around. "If you're going to stand in the doorway all night, Miss Granger, you're wasting my time. Now get in here before I get to any of the many better things I could be doing with my evening."

She took a step forward, started to say his name, and he realized he couldn't stand to listen to her disavow her feelings for him. "If you are about to make silly excuses regarding the last session of our lesson yesterday, you would do well to save your breath." He looked at her still flushed face. "You're positively _spewing_ anxiety, Miss Granger, which I can tell you will have no positive effect on our lesson tonight."

She insisted on beginning to speak his name again, and he cut her off angrily. "Not _finished_. Now, I mean to tell you that there is no point to your excuses. What you may or may not know or _understand_..." He snarled that last world, quite aware that her intelligence was a low blow to strike. He went on to explain about the sometimes random nature of legilimency, and then ended, "Whatever misconceptions you may be so _anxious_ that I have formed, I can guarantee you that I have not."

He stood back, waiting for her to cover her embarrassment and then move on to their lesson. Better her than him. It was her bloody memories that had put him into such a foul mood.

But instead, she lashed out at him. He stood there dumbly, listening to her rattle off a stream of insults until she finally stopped, looking slightly smug, and he remembered that anger so rare yet powerfully invoked and realized that it had never before been directed at him.

For a moment, he found the angry gleam in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the wit to her abuse... attractive. And that unintended, unwelcome, involuntary reaction incensed him more than anything she had just said.

He forced himself to step closer to her, look her in the eye, as he responded. Hissed out a retort that contained all the venom that he felt about the situation in general and aimed the full brunt of the force at her.

And she didn't even flinch.

Deciding that the best course now would be to simply begin the lesson, he pulled out his wand and cast legilimens on her again. He hoped with all his might that she did better this time; he didn't want to see what else her memories held. The images swarmed in front of his face. Harry, crying. No surprise there. And then...

Hermione, in the throes of passion. A mirror revealing the sweat on her brow, the curve of her breasts, the scream that died on her lips as she threw her head back, tangles of hair falling over her shoulders. So... feral.

And then it faded into another scene, of Ron Weasley leaving her with agonizingly hurtful words of departure. Then, a Death Eater casting an unforgivable, leaving her writhing in pain, just for a second, but just enough...

And then she pushed him out. He could feel himself shaking slightly, not accustomed to dealing with such raw emotion. He looked at her, seeing her face was pale, her hands trembling. He managed to compose himself enough to say, "You didn't use your wand that time. You pushed me out with only your mind. That is better, but you still let me get in..." The words caught in the back of his throat slightly as the images flashed in front of his eyes. "Too far. Much too far."

Her eyes held something he couldn't place, and for a moment he thought that she was either going to yell at him again, or collapse into a crying heap on the floor. "Miss Granger?" he said, softly.

She lifted her head, and he could see the glisten of tears on the edges of her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, her tone harsh, mean. "A bit put out about your seeing me naked, is all."

He could hear the desperation in her voice. Knew that she was lashing out at him to avoid him seeing her break down. But still, the words brought back the image to his mind, now a memory of _his_ , of Hermione Granger, making love to a man he assumed was Ron though he could really care less.

He realized that he had just seen the two sides of Hermione's passion. A woman so generally reserved, so in control of herself, suddenly _losing_ control in anger, and lust. It stirred something inside him, something he wished not awakened, and the image in his mind's eye lingered. He looked at her, and could feel himself doing something that he never, ever did. He blushed.

Just for a moment, before he managed to control himself, cursing everything that was biological about his worn body. Once he regained the use of his voice he intended to take control again with a retort to her accusation, but was interrupted.

"I want to try again," she said.

His immediate instinct was to refuse, but could see the determination in her eyes. "Very well. But I cannot be responsible for..."

" _I want to try again._ "

And he heard the strength in her voice that he recognized. Even just the last two memories he had unveiled, Ron's departure, the Crutiatus curse... no wonder she was shaken, but she resisted breaking down, both during the actual events, and here after reliving them for him. He had no idea that this... this _slip_ of a girl – of a woman – had such a degree of strength inside her.

He nodded, held out his wand, and prayed silently that she would succeed this time. No more. No more memories, not if they would continue to be like those...

The picture was hazy this time, and he thought that he was just about to make out the outline of the staircase in Grimmauld Place, when he suddenly heard a loud cry: " _Protego!_ "

And he felt himself thrown violently into his own mind – the dark mark searing, being beaten by the Death Eaters, then laying in the dark watching Hermione, then her name from his lips...

He pushed her viciously from his mind. Slammed his entire will against the force of the shielding spell. He opened his eyes, bracing himself against the desk for support, and saw her crumbled to the floor at his feet. "That is quite enough," he said, hoping that his voice would not betray him as his memories had.


	3. Resolutions

She opened her eyes.

He was standing in front of her, his arm braced against the desk, leaning on it for support. His face was pale, his breathing ragged. He grasped his wand in his other hand, clenching his fist so tight that she could see the white outline of his knuckles.

She was on the ground at his feet. She knew that she should probably gather together her remaining dignity and stand up, but as soon as she did she would have had to look him in the eyes and she really, really wanted to avoid that at the moment.

What did it mean, she wondered. It was not so much simply that he remembered that night... but her name, the way he said it... it was not him calling out to her to return with more water. There was emotion attached to it, she could feel it in the memory. Something like longing, but the idea seemed so ludicrous that she could simply not fathom it.

She could hardly convince herself that after years of simply trying to be _friendly_ with Severus Snape, all the times he pushed her away, sneered at her with disdain, that he had all along, harbored some repressed _feelings_ for her. Particularly after his little speech involving her own memories from the night before. She could hear his voice, wickedly seething, in her head: "Whatever misconceptions you may be so _anxious_ that I have formed, I can guarantee you that I have not."

But the idea that he might actually have feelings... fascinated her.

She couldn't continue to sit on the floor. Standing, brushing off her robes, she gathered the will to look him in the face and said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Miss Granger?" he asked, his face returning to its normal color, only slightly darker than the ghost white hue it had just possessed. And then, his lips pressed into a straight, angry line, "I suppose Mr. Potter taught you that little trick?"

"I hadn't intended to..." she began.

"Violently invade my personal space?" he finished for her. "I applaud you for finding that little loophole instead of actually practicing good occlumency, but I suspect your motives may have been less than noble. I think we've both learned today that there are some secrets best kept in one's own mind. Now go, before I decide I no longer wish to continue our lessons." He turned his back to her.

"I was there too," she said simply, not moving from her place, staring holes into the back of his robes.

He turned back to her, slowly. "Excuse me? Why are you still here?"

"I said, I was there too." She took a breath, determined not to let him intimidate her. "It wasn't so much your personal space if it was a memory that we both share, is it?"

He looked slightly taken aback. So she wasn't surprised when he returned with anger, the emotion he seemed to default to whenever she startled him. "I don't believe that's the point," he snarled. "And I refuse to discuss this with you. If you do not leave my office immediately I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"Why did you call for me again, that night?" she asked, not feeling as brave as she would have liked considering that this line of questioning was likely to get her hexed six ways to Sunday before she could pull out her wand.

"MUST I ASK YOU AGAIN TO LEAVE?" Snape yelled, and she could tell that she'd shaken him.

"I imagine Professor Dumbledore would be quite put out if you cursed me or threw me physically from your office just for a simple question," Hermione continued calmly.

"Fine," he hissed, "If you insist on playing this little game. I imagine the reason I called for you was to reprimand you for being out of bed at such a late hour, and I suspected, eavesdropping to boot." He glared at her. "Is my answer satisfactory, or were you expecting something more interesting, Miss Granger?"

"I think you're lying," she said, relishing the feeling of oxygen entering her lungs, quite aware that it may be the last. She realized that she would likely regret this, but couldn't imagine another opportunity to catch Snape so unguarded, and she just... had to know.

He laughed, but it was hollow. "Silly girl," he said, "What are you expecting? That I shall confess some hidden undying love for you?"

She felt herself blush slightly, having not expected him to mock her. How cruel.

He continued. "Ah, that must be it. For the past six years I've been secretly pining away for the brilliant Hermione Granger... whom I always saw as an annoying child until that fateful night when she tended my wounds and I fell hopelessly in love."

The heat spread on her face, and she simply couldn't stand it anymore. He was probably going to throw her out and never speak to her again after this anyway, so what did it matter what she said? "What do you know of love?" she cried, seeing him wince slightly at the level of her voice. "You're a lonely man who revels in his own pain, refusing to believe that anyone could possibly love you. And so you become even more vile and abusive, giving them every reason not to. That's why you were so defensive about the images you saw in my mind. You can't stand the thought that another person may actually think about you with something other than loathing, because it undermines your entire belief structure. You wouldn't know what to do with love if you had it; it would just whither and die under your grasp. You're just livid over the fact that I might actually care for you, even just a little bit."

"That was quite an analysis," he hissed. "But don't try to pretend you care about me."

"I'M NOT BLOODY PRETENDING!" Hermione yelled, thinking she might rip his throat out if he mocked her one more time. "YOU VILE, LOATHSOME, EVIL MAN!"

He stared at her for a moment, shocked, and she waited for the hexes to fly. But instead, he did something profoundly unexpected.

He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips roughly against hers.

*****

She tasted like lemonade, he thought. Well, he was really thinking all manner of things but most of them involved the heat of her body pressed against his, the feeling of his hands threading through that wild mane of hair, the softness of her lips, her tongue... and the thought that she – that _she_ \- was kissing him back.

At least, for a second.

Because then she suddenly pushed him away, somewhat forcefully, and pressed two fingers disbelievingly to her lips, still swollen from his kisses. "What – what are you doing?" she stammered.

Oh, _fuck_.

"I...I..." Ah, where is your quick wit, your sharp tongue, your biting retort now, Severus? Was this his punishment for letting his guard down for a fraction of a second? _Just long enough to let some other part of your body than your head do the decision-making for you_ , he thought bitterly. Didn't really matter if it had been his heart or his libido, either way he had just been made a royal fool.

He realized that that kiss may just have been the most out of character thing he had ever done in his entire life. Once he regained some control of himself he said, with surprising calm, "I warned you, Miss Granger, that if you did not leave I would not be held responsible for my actions. You have obviously..."

He stopped there, because suddenly, she was laughing. _Roaring_ , was more like it.

His eyes leveled on her with a cool gaze. "I'm glad this amuses you, Miss Granger. Now you can kindly leave my office before I make you do so by force."

"No, no, I..." She managed to stop laughing long enough to choke out a reply. "I'm not laughing at you, Severus, I swear. And I'm not going to leave just to salvage your pride."

"May I ask then," he began slowly, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible while feeling for perhaps the first time in his life that he would prefer to sink to a puddle in the floorboards, "what you find so terribly funny?" And had she just called him "Severus"?

She cleared her throat. "You see, well, I suppose I was kind of laughing at you, but not at what you thought..."

His glare told her to tread softly.

"You see, I just cannot help but find it a bit, well, _ironic_ , really, that after five years of my being awfully nice to you, trying to catch your attentions really, that it took my screaming insults at you in order to get you to kiss me." She giggled, and it ended in a snort. "And then – and then when I show the slightest bit of hesitation you immediately sink back into ice-prince-loathing-me mode even though you'd just..." She started laughing again.

He didn't know what to say; the girl was obviously hysterical.

"You're like – you're like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde only you're Mr. Hyde nearly all of the time!" She finally stopped laughing.

"Mr. who?" he asked, while thinking, did she just say "get you to kiss me?"

"Oh, it's a muggle... nevermind." She took a breath, looked at him with soft eyes. "Now that I've contained myself may I stay long enough to ask you a question?"

"You may, but I reserve the privilege not to answer it."

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I... I don't know, obviously some bizarre lapse in judgment. Must have hit my head on the desk when you hit me with the shielding curse."

She sighed, pursed her lips into a tight frown. "You're lying to me again. What are you so bloody afraid of?"

" _Afraid_? Are you quite mad, Miss Granger?" Quite perceptive, really. Gods, this woman could drive a man to drinking...

"AND WOULD YOU STOP CALLING ME MISS GRANGER!" she yelled, then took a deep breath. "I apologize. Now. I'm sorry that I pushed you away so abruptly, but I..."

He held up a hand to stop her. "Please refrain from finishing that sentence, Miss..." He stopped, then continued. "I can only imagine."

She glared at him. " _But I_ ," she went on, "was quite shocked. Understandably so, don't you think?"

He nodded reluctantly.

The air of control around her seemed to waiver, and she was obviously slightly flustered as she continued. "I mean... I was quite shocked that you _did_ it, of course. But really, I mean, what I was really shocked about was..." He could see a slight red tinge color her cheeks. "I feel like that was the kiss I've been waiting for my whole life."

He gaped. Was rendered completely, stone-cold speechless, unable to comprehend what she had just said.

She appeared to interpret his silence as a negative reaction. "Well, I mean, but if it was just rubbish to you..." she stammered.

"You stupid, stupid girl," he growled, and pulled her into him again.

*****

His lips on hers were like fire. Then when he trailed kisses down her neck it was like tiny bursts of flame alighting on her skin. How had she possibly thought this man was _cold_?

Her fingers tangled into that jet-black hair, which was only soft rather than greasy. A low groan escaped from the back of his throat when she tugged on it to pull him closer to her.

She turned her head towards his ear and whispered, "You're not going to tell me later that this is because you hit your head on the desk, are you?"

"Insolent girl," he said into her ear, and then nipping softly at it.

"Aren't you going to call me by my name?" she asked, shuddering slightly as his hands ran up the bottom of her sweater and his fingers slid lightly up the length of her back.

"Yes," he said, capturing her mouth again. Probably to shut her up, she thought, amused.

Still kissing him, she pulled her wand out with a free hand and pointed it at the desk behind him.

He turned around, looking startled, and then looked at her, to where the desk had previously stood, and back to her.

"I was an _excellent_ transfiguration student," she said smugly. "If Professor McGonagall can turn one into a pig I can certainly manage a small bed."

He still had his arms around her waist, and he spun her around quickly, lifting her up and setting her down onto the bed, staying where he was, towering over her.

"I don't understand..." he said, almost sounding morose. "I'm an old man..."

"Don't forget crotchety," she said playfully. "You're a _crotchety_ old man." But he looked so positively and profoundly confused that she grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her, saying seriously, "Severus, do you _really_ think that age is all that important? I may be young but you're certainly not all that old... How old are you, anyway? 44? 45?"

"46," he said, sounding annoyed. "I could be your father."

"Well, actually, my father is quite stodgy and very unattractive. He's a dentist, you know. And I uphold the delusion that my parents have never, ever, had sex in their entire lives." She looked at him, hoping maybe she could get him to break a smile.

Nope, not even a glimmer. "Don't be silly, you know what I mean. Why? Why could you possibly find me attractive?"

"See what I mean?" she said softly, running a finger down the side of his face. "You just refuse to believe that anyone could love you."

"But I'm... I'm... I'm a vile, loathsome, evil man!" he finished, giving her a triumphant look.

"Ah... sorry about that. But you are sometimes, you know." She looked thoughtful. "Most of the time, really."

He looked exasperated. "So _why_?"

"Do you mind if I ask you the same question first?" she said gently. "Why me?"

He stared at her. "Because... gods, woman, are you serious? You're brilliant, and witty, and loyal. You may have been annoying as a child but you've grown into a woman who has more strength than I sometimes think I possess myself." He sighed, remembering the memory they shared. "You're kind without pity."

His words sent a shiver of happiness down her body. She'd found it. This was the side of him that she'd almost glimpsed so many times. It was there just below the surface, breaking its way into that gruff exterior... and she loved both sides of him, really.

"I notice you didn't mention anything about large breasts or long legs or a beautiful mouth..." she began slyly, seeing his eyes widen slightly in surprise. "And that, dear Severus, besides the fact that I think you're incredibly sexy –" She put a finger over his lips, and continued, "Whether you may think so or not – is why I want to shag you silly."

"Well of course I think you're beautiful," he said, sounding slightly stunned. "I didn't think it necessary to mention that part."

She laughed. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that woman love the dark, mysterious, brooding type?"

"That's not the..."

"Oh, do shut up," she said, kissing him as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his robes.

He caught her hands in his. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked into his eyes. "Absolutely. I think we've both been waiting for this for a long time... even if we didn't know it." She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "And I promise you that I will still be here in the morning."

"As will I."

And later, as bodies joined in the darkness, two names exploded into the passion. For the first time in six years, her name left his lips. "Hermione..."


End file.
